


Jam Session

by MadameFolie



Category: A Redtail's Dream (Webcomic), Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 11,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameFolie/pseuds/MadameFolie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Using the new Idea Generator to help write through a creative jam!</p><p>Available here: http://seventybyheart.x10host.com/index.html</p><p>Now including miscellaneous drabbles!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Prompt was:

Sigrun Eide

Reynir Árnason

"it can't be that hard"

unresolved issues

cave/underground

lust

 

* * *

 

 

"Oh, gods," Reynir whimpers. It's the last thing he has the chance to say before Sigrun's fingers press down his tongue.

 

"See," she tells him. "It's not so bad. Just focus on me." On her fingers and her voice. And the ache between his legs, she'll bet. That should be more than enough to keep his mind off the wait. It's not so bad, it's really not. The others should be able to dig them out in no time. They've got air coming in and help on the way. The rest is all in their heads. In the meanwhile, a tiny distraction never hurt anyone. She curls her fingers up against the roof of his mouth and draws them back out good and slow. Reynir strains his neck to follow her.

 

"Easy, kid." Talk about slamming the gas. Farm boy doesn't do things by halves, does he? "You can have 'em back," she promises, slipping two fingers between his lips again. Just enough so he can't talk back properly. "But you're going to have to show me how deep you can take 'em. Do you think you can take 'em?" Reynir doesn't try to speak, doesn't try to nod, just groans again. Good, so he gets the rules of this little game.

 

"That's right. 'cause you're a good boy, aren't you?" She offers him her fingers to suck. He laps between them with slow strokes of his tongue, along the sides and down to the soft juncture, sucking at the thin flesh. Hard as he is, his shoulders are trembling. She gets the feeling they're stumbling into some kind of uncharted territory for him, but that's something they can worry about later. One thing at a time.

 

It can't be that hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt was:  
  
Mikkel Madsen  
Onni Hotakainen  
"absolutely unremarkable"  
duty and/or responsibility  
flowers  
friendship

 

* * *

  
  
  
When babysitting proves to be too dangerous an undertaking in the long term, and running errands too rife with opportunities for things to go awry, the Swedish couple in charge of this insane endeavor exile Onni to the garden on the nicer days. He doesn't-- he doesn't know how to take care of anything, he tries to tell them. His Icelandic is passable, but it's not that good. With too-small gloves and Siv's half-comprehensible guidance, he is pushed out to the flowerbeds to assume responsibility for staving off yet another handful of deaths. It's like the gods thrive on his humiliations.  
  
  
The tall stalks of violet blooms look hardy enough. But then again, so have many people.  
  
  
This is how he first meets the project's medic, clipping away at the brush, nearly half of Onni's efforts lying disembodied in a pile at his feet. He doesn't even have the decency to look abashed about the mess he's making.  
  
  
"What," Onni demands, reaching for the shears in his hands. "Do you think you're doing?!" Unperturbed, the man lifts the shears over his head, just out of Onni's grasp.  
  
  
"Gardening," the man says without further elaborating. And resumes mangling the flowers.  
  
  
"You're killing them!" Onni cries, throwing his arm between the stranger and his work. That at least captures his attention. Enough so that he stops again. Calmly, the stranger turns his sleepy gaze on him.  
  
  
"You don't know much about caring for plants, do you," he says. It's more an observation than a question.  
  
  
"I--"  
  
  
"Sit," the stranger instructs him. His hands are steady as he gathers another fistful of brush. "I'll show you what you need to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Onni Hotakainen  
Reynir Árnason  
before it starts raining  
interrupted and/or imperfect sex  
morning after  
happiness  
  


* * *

 

  
Keuruu is safe. Safe enough to sleep outside if one wants, even in summer, and the night scouts keep to a zone just a ways outside the safe areas. So it's private enough if one wants, too. There is just one thing, though:  
  
  
They get a rude awakening just after the sky begins to brighten -- late, through the heavy clouds. He should have known. The rain comes down in a single, sudden blanket, shocking Onni out of the heady spell Reynir's fingers are tracing along the inside of his thigh.  
  
  
"Come on." Onni pulls his cloak over Reynir's shoulders. "There should be a cave nearby." They collect their clothes as fast as they can and run. Reynir is breathless and laughing when they break at last, in the shelter of the cave. He's a mess, with his thick hair matted to his head by rainwater and entirely naked but for the fur cloak he's clasping closed at the collar. There's a rash of mud clambering up his legs and Onni suspects they're matching in that regard. The bundle of clothes (whose, Onni isn't quite sure) he himself is holding is completely soaked.  
  
  
"This was a bad idea," Onni says. Who knows when the rain will let up? Reynir keeps on smiling like this has been the greatest adventure of his life. Water runs in rivulets down his pale belly, cutting clean swaths where it trails all the way down through the filth on his legs.  
  
  
"Well, I like your new boots." The cheeky little bastard. "Can I have a kiss?"


	4. Chapter 4

Sigrun Eide

Mikkel Madsen

not even for a second

questions and/or answers

med-kit

 

bittersweet

 

 

* * *

 

Ugh, gross. So, okay, she's had some nastier wounds. Doesn't make the cleanup any less disgusting. Every clink of grit that drops into Mikkel's collection tray turns her stomach.

"You know you're going to have to recuperate for a while with this one."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

He switches the flat-edged tweezers out for something with a finer point. She can tell because the damn thing's sharp enough to open up a few fresh holes in her. She lets out a breath and tips her head a little to the side. The smoke from the cooking fire trickles up past the dashboard window. Doesn't smell so bad, either. Maybe they should keep Freckles on mess detail instead. There's another pinch, and holy _hell_ does it hurt on the raw skin of an open wound.

"Careful down there, huh?" Sigrun tries to push up onto an elbow. "Not gonna be a lot of help if you put a dent in my kidney."

"I wouldn't worry about that. Your kidneys are perfectly safe on the other side of your body." As soon as Mikkel spies her trying to get a look at her hip, he stands. With a hand on her shoulder, he tries to guide her back down onto the passenger bench again. Honestly, it's not like it's anything she hasn't seen before. "It's best if you don't move." And then off to rustle around in his med-kit. Maybe she can sneak a peek while his back is turned?

"Right, right. Sure."

"I'm serious. You're very lucky, and you know it."

"Please. Luck's got nothing to do with it, doc." Though the stars she sees when she props herself up are kind of telling a different story. The look on his face when he turns to her again freezes the blood in her veins.

"You could have gotten yourself killed. And you could have gotten the children killed. Did you even stop to think of the consequences?" He might be right, but he's playing dirty and he knows it.

"They're not kids. They're soldiers," she reminds him. "And they answer to me, not you."

"And as their commanding officer, they're your responsibility. You should be ashamed of the way you served them today." Mikkel sprays a cold something up the length of the gash. He has to peel back the loose flap of skin at one edge to get at the nasty underneath it; hurts like a bitch, the way he pulls. With a grunt, Sigrun lowers herself off her arms. Mutinous ass. Officers make bad calls all the time, it happens. He knows it happens. Why can't he just be right like a decent person, without being such a dick about it?

What a lousy day. Lousy fight, lousy wound and now it's lousy cold and she's lousy hungry.

"Maybe you should be ashamed of your professional mannerism." Mikkel barely bats an eye, but he does smile. So there's that. "Can't I get another blanket or something? I'm freezing my tits off here."

"As soon as you're patched up, you can have all the blankets you like." 

"Good." That's what she likes to hear. "And hand me another painkiller while you're at it?"


	5. Chapter 5

Sigrun Eide  
Onni Hotakainen  
Might as well make it count for something.  
compromising positions  
face-to-face  
defiance  


* * *

  
  
Trond told her the big Finnish guy's former military just like all the rest of them. Funny thing is, you really wouldn't know it, the way he covers his chest the moment he realizes he isn't alone in the hall. Doesn't his base have communal showers? Isn't there a thing about saunas? But no, here he is, clasping a hand across his breast like her walk to the Västerström's bathroom is an affront to his delicate sensibilities and glaring fit to burn a hole in her face.  
  
  
So how can she resist an opening like that? Everyone knows there's no backing down from a challenge: she steps right up into his personal space.  
  
  
"Yeah?" It's pure kid stuff, posturing bullshit. Back straight, chest out, chin up just like that -- sure enough, his face crinkles right up like he's trying not to cry. "You looking at something?"  
  
  
Whatever he says, his voice comes out choked and muted. And totally incomprehensible. Right. Language stuff. She forgot about that. Well, he's making an effort and it's a solid try. Besides, it's not like they don't understand each other just fine. She cocks her head and gives him a good, thorough look. Little on the short side. Mostly solid bulk, not that you can tell through the clothes. Doesn't look like he's ever been in a fight in his life. On the one hand, she could take him. On the other, it just wouldn't be fair. She clamps a hand onto his shoulder as she passes.  
  
  
"Go to bed before you hurt yourself, kid."  
  
  
But hey, points to him for trying.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this one while hashing out ideas for how "Fall to Winter, Winter to Spring" could play out. Luckily for all parties involved, I scrapped the idea.
> 
> (Slight explicit content.)

Onni Hotakainen  
Reynir Árnason  
Might as well make it count for something.  
picking up the pieces  
haven/dreamscape  
anguish

 

* * *

  
  
  
He wakes with a crick in his neck and his first thought is to reach for his pillow, wherever it's gotten to. His hand meets naked earth instead and it shakes his balance. It's possible to sleep in one's dream space. He just. Doesn't. Usually.  
  
  
Usually there isn't an arm around his waist there, either. He takes stock of the narrow wrist, the long fingers and the sharp knuckles under his fingers. The humid breath on the nape of his neck. The warmth behind him shifts. And Onni feels his blood run cold.  
  
  
"Are you awake?" The question is barely more than a whisper in his hair. "I mean-- you know--"  
  
  
"I know what you mean," Onni replies, and it takes all his strength of will to drive the tremor from his voice. "I'm. I'm here." Another breath upon his shoulder. Onni isn't prepared to move. The moment he sits up, there is no looking away from this. Reynir watches him push off of his back through half-lidded eyes. Still only somewhat awake, perhaps. And so...  
  
  
So trusting. As if Onni hasn't just made a horrible mistake. It surfaces in his mind in pockets of memory, like air rising to the skin of a lake. The nails carving furrows in his thighs, Reynir's soft lips at the root of his cock-- he shakes his head to clear the thoughts away. His head swims as he remembers, and the pleasure of it all clouds his judgment. Fingertips on his hip begin to whet the need anew. His heart wavers. And he hungers. Like a beast.  
  
  
"Stop that." Even to his own ears, his voice is not half as steady as he would like. "This is wrong. We can't do this." Reynir's caresses slow.  
  
  
"What do you mean? I thought..." His chest swells once as he sucks in a lungful of air. "It was okay, wasn't it? I liked it-- it felt good." He can't meet Onni's eyes as he confesses this, redness spreading across his cheeks and up his ears. "Like I could really show you--"  
  
  
"You should go." It's a relief that Reynir has already turned away, so that Onni does not have to be the one to do so first. "I'm sorry."  
  
  
"But I--"  
  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
  
"If it was something I did wrong--"  
  
  
"Just. Please, _go_ \--"  
  
  
With his hands clasped over his face, Onni waits until he can no longer hear Reynir nor feel his presence beside him. For a long time after he waits, until the lapping of the water below slowly gives way to Keuruu's distant birdsong. Only then does he stand, and begin to gather his clothes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: a discussion of some recent pages, and the fact that Onni is very, seriously, well and truly _fucked_. 
> 
> Possibly literally.
> 
> (Contains explicit content.)

Reynir Árnason  
Onni Hotakainen  
a super great time  
banter and/or teasing  
after midnight  
devotion

 

* * *

   
  
He can't speak. He can't even think, for the roiling heat of Reynir inside him. Onni can only gasp as Reynir twists his wrist and splays him wide open.  
  
"Looks like you're having almost as much fun as I am," Reynir points out brightly, flexing the three fingers he's got in Onni. He's got them in almost to the root and the ridges of his broad knuckles bear against Onni with dizzying pressure. "How about it? Want me to give you another?"  
  
Onni doesn't know if he could take it. It's so, so much already.  
  
"I'd give you whatever you want." Reynir is smiling, that one gentle smile that finds its way to the light when Reynir is trying to voice something too heavy to say with such ease. He's stroking along one of Onni's spread thighs with the tips of his fingers, feeling the way the muscles tremble and jump under his touch. "You know I would." Onni lays his head back against the earth. His eyes are not closed and yet he barely sees. Kuutar above is no more than a hazy glow, lower than before. Their time is trickling away.  
  
"Yeah," he breathes. Probably not loud enough for Reynir to hear him. Reynir pushes a thumb up idly behind his testes, almost an afterthought. He wants --needs-- more. How can he be feeling so much of him, and so little all at once? His bare skin is naked without Reynir's palms against his flesh; he strokes the plane of his belly to balance the difference. "I know. I know."  
  
"Okay, but." Reynir grasps his wrist, unexpectedly strong. His grip is painful, compressing vein and sinew to the bone. Worse still is the ache in his breast. "You have to ask for it. I'm doing all the touching here for now, alright?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Tuuri/Sigrun, victory**

 

* * *

 

 

Oh. Oh, that is. That is a very, _very_ dead troll. All those legs didn’t really stick out like that before (not that they stuck out normally when it was alive, but). It’s pretty decidedly dead. Dead again. Un-undead. Re-dead? And Sigrun is making this high-pitched noise like a tea kettle and keeps punching her in the arm.  
  
“Um,” Tuuri begins. Someone should probably be helping Mikkel roll the body off the road. If they’re going to backtrack the same way they came. Someone immune, probably. Unless they have a shovel somewhere in the trunk. Oh, that troll is so very dead. The last troll she hit was an accident. This one….it’s up close and it’s gooey and smells like boot funk and blood.   
  
“Holy shit, Fuzzy! That’s my girl!” Just when Tuuri doesn’t think her arm can take another punch, she feels her balance going sideways; Sigrun wrests an arm under her neck and gouges her knuckles into her scalp. Tuuri yelps. “Sure, it’s not a clean kill, but it’s a start! I knew you had it in you!”  
  
At least the shaking and the pounding in her ears has already settled down. But Sigrun’s breath is warm in her hair and she feels a little woozy.  
  
“I beat it,” she says. Sigrun’s probably holding up most of her weight now. Maybe she should sit down a bit? Or drink some water?   
  
“Flattened it like a _bug_.”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
“Yeah? Yeah?” Sigrun’s knuckles rake across her already-aching scalp one more time before tipping her back onto her feet. “Maybe we oughta make you a troll hunter, too.”  
  
“I don’t really think I,” she begins, but Sigrun’s arm is around her and squeezing and then she _can’t_ think.  
  
“C’mon. I know these things,” Sigrun says. “Trust me.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Siv & Onni, parenting**

 

* * *

 

 

“The first night is the hardest,” is what she tells him. She finds him in the radio room, cracking the spine of his paperback white and chewing a raw sore against the inside of his lip. She’s busy catching up on the outset reports for the Council, or so she says. And so she invites him to leave his post for the kitchen. He is prepared to decline, but she doesn’t seem to mind a change of setting. Whatever tea she’s using tastes the same as the stuff they used to keep in the mages’ break room at Keuruu. Standard issue. Cheap, even for the teas on the public market. Better for holding than drinking. And she tells him, like she has any idea.  
  
“How can you be so calm? You don’t know they’re going to be okay.”  
  
Siv holds her mug with both hands wrapped around the body; the tea bag’s string dangles over the precipice of her fingers. The expression on her features is solemn. Worn.  
  
“No. I don’t.” If it had been one of her own children out there instead of the cleanser, he thinks –not that Lalli means any less to him than Tuuri– but if it had been one of hers–  
  
“Something could go wrong,” she continues. “It always does.” Onni scores his teeth against the sore on his lip. It’s. Not what he wants to hear. It’s less condescending than platitudes and reassurances, but it’s bitter in his breast.  
  
“Then,” why, he wants to ask. Why even try. But she goes on.  
  
“There’s nothing else you can do. Just keep going. Maybe it’ll get easier.”  
  
In the surface of his tea, the shadowy reflections of the photos on the wall drift and flicker.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hannu, Ville, and the beginning of Year 0.  
**

 

* * *

 

 

Esko doesn’t come in on Monday. He’s got the right idea, Hannu thinks, and if Mr. Kuikka had any goddamn sense, he’d close the store down until this all blows over, too. Nobody’s making the trip out if they can avoid it, and pretty much all the business they do get is orders for deliveries. Which the fucking twins, of course, are sticking him with. After all the extra weight he’s pulling for them, he could actually use the time off. Without Esko, the lone DJ fills up the empty space between the music broadcasts with…god, what is it, even. He’s practically babbling to cover up the silence. Going crazy in the studio all by himself.  
  
And then there’s his phone, which won’t stop buzzing. Mostly texts from mom and dad, trying to get him to come stay for the weekend. In case things really do get bad and people can’t get in or out of Hokkaniemi. Some from Paju. Her family’s going to lie low with some relatives in the city once she gets out on Friday. Well, good. Maybe everything really will shut down and she’ll be stuck there. One less wellhead of nagging to tune out.   
  
Ville’s been looking out the window all afternoon, which isn’t like him. Usually he gives more of a shit about actually working at work. Today he’s just leaning on the counter, staring off into the rain.   
  
“Aren’t you supposed to be on stockroom right now?” Ville jerks upright like he’s been shocked.   
  
“Oh! Uh. Yeah. Just. It can wait another couple of minutes, don’t you think?”  
  
“…no?” They’re down to the wire on batteries and candles out here. Not that he cares in particular, but if Mr. Kuikka sees it, it’s going to be on his own ass. The joys of newfound seniority unsolicited. _Unasked_ for.  
  
“…do I have to?” What the fuck?  
  
“I guess not, if you want to deal with Mr. Kuikka.”  
  
“I don’t! I mean. I do, but.” His eyes dart back to the window. “But will you come with me?”  
  
Oh, come on.  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
“I’m serious! Something’s not right. I can’t really explain, but I have a really bad feeling about it.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Joona/hannu teasing nsfw is up to you**

 

* * *

 

 

Joona’s an _asshole_.   
  
It’s bad enough trying to survive his shift and all the twins’ usual horseshit. But no. He just has to–  
  
–to clap him on the shoulder in passing. Casual, too casual for him, right on the bite mark where he–  
  
–sank his teeth in last night. As payback for the burning hatches Hannu carved into his back while he was–  
  
–inside of him. Been thinking about how bad he wants to fuck him all day, Joona whispers in his ear, wrapped around him from behind as he fakes helping Hannu knead a fresh batch of dough. It’s soft between their superimposed fingers, and when Joona sinks their fingertips into its yielding body he rocks his hips to pin Hannu against the–  
  
–counter. There’s a note on the counter, one of the credit card readers is down. Cash transactions only until Mr. Kuikka gets the repair guy in–   
  
–the mirror, the bruise looks too much like actual human teeth to pretend it’s anything else. Hannu rubs at it a bit, like it’s actually going to do anything to help. His break’s over in five minutes, he should put his damn shirt back on and get back out to the store. God, he wishes he’d called in sick today. Or actually been sick today. Anything but have to go back out–  
  
–there? Or how about _there_ , Joona says, and he punctuates the last word with a brush of his knuckles along the nape of his neck, right down to where the shirt swallows the skin. Hannu shivers and just. Fuck. Him. He’ll tell Joona where he can put the damn–  
  
–boxes, and baskets, and miscellaneous storage, check. All stocked. Writing pads, drawing pads, markers, coloring books, check. Dog food, check cat food, check. Inventory’s probably the worst possible task and still it’s better than having to go back to the kitchen and deal with Joona and his–  
  
–hands, curved to the swell of his ribs, palm flat to his belly, gripping his thighs and his rear, clasping at his face, and forcing him stomach-down against the sheets. Fuck. Fuck. He tries to focus on one at a time, just keep hold of one image long enough as he pushes into his fist. Joona smiling against his shoulder like it’s some stupid fucking game. The phone’s sitting, screen dark, next to his pillow. He won’t call him. That’s probably just what he wants, and the hell Hannu’s about to pander to that because–  
  
–Joona’s an _asshole_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Emil/Lalli, Lalli's version of blatantly displaying affection**

 

* * *

 

 

Emil supposes he ought to consider himself lucky. Lalli isn’t doing quite so much of that thing where he pulls the flaps of his hood over his ears and turns away every time he sees Emil coming over with breakfast. At least, it doesn’t quite look like it. He’s got his back turned to the team, and is hunched up on the ground working away at…something. Well. No matter. It’s probably nothing that can’t wait until after a hot meal.  
  
He nearly drops the gruel all over his _self_ this time, though, when he draws near enough to see what’s got his attention. Lalli is. Is. He’s dismantling a rabbit. And dismantling truly is the only word for it, as he’s cut its belly cavity open and is squishing about in there with his fingers, removing this and examining that to goodness only knows what end. He spots his company the moment Emil’s shadow strikes his view and looks to him a moment as if in greeting before resuming his task.   
  
“I brought you breakfast,” Emil says. Does he remember the word for it? He thinks he remembers. “Breakfast,” he tries again, in Finnish. Or what he thinks is Finnish, probably. Lalli says nothing, but doesn’t actively avoid him either and so Emil will treat it, accordingly, as a victory. He sets Lalli’s share down on the grass, hopefully at a distance securely out of range of the rabbit offal blast zone.   
  
It’s very tempting to take his own meal elsewhere. As much as he enjoys Lalli’s company and as strongly as he feels about keeping that olive branch extended so to speak he really, really isn’t confident he’s got the stomach to sit this one through. Maybe if he just, ah. Closes his eyes. It might look strange. But Lalli wouldn’t judge.   
  
“Is this another one of those mage things?” He asks in Swedish, because even if the words don’t stick, perhaps the intention will. “Noita,” he tries. “Yes?”  
  
Lalli taps the ground beside him with a bloodied finger. Oh, Emil was afraid he might say that. He sits.  
  
“Yes,” Lalli says, removing a long, thin component. Emil focuses on palatable thoughts, like cinnamon and honey for his oats. He focuses very, very, intently.  
  
Until Lalli taps again, this time on his shoulder.  
  
“What is,” is about all he can manage before the soft, dark lump is deposited into his hand.   
  
“You,” Lalli informs him. “Eat.” Before he commits his attention to hacking off one of the rabbit’s legs. If he screams now, he’ll ruin everything he’s worked to rebuild. Let it never go unsaid that he is trying his damnedest. The lump is covered in something slimy. And it’s _warm_.   
  
After a minute or so of messy removal, the leg joins the gift pile as well. Hair and bone and everything. Lalli stands with the rest and makes for the now-unattended cooking pot.  
  
Perhaps it’s for the best that certain sentiments Emil might name have not yet crossed the communication gap.


	13. Chapter 13

**OT3 [Sigrun/Emil/Reynir], not enough space**

 

* * *

 

 

Well, what did they expect? She’s an officer, not a civilian. Pretty much guarantees her a kitchen and an extra meter or two of floor space, but that’s about it. The bed’s still pretty standard issue. Low to the ground and enough room for one body, if one body doesn’t try to spread out too far. She can name a few troll hunters that spill off the edges of theirs.  
  
“How are we all supposed to fit in there?” Emil’s the one who asks first, probably because Reynir can’t. Kid’s thinking it, though, judging by the way he’s screwing up his face and tilting his head like maybe he’ll find extra bed that he just can’t see yet. It’s sweet of him to try, she guesses.  
  
“Uh. Yeah.” And they’re not gonna like this: “I’m gonna go with ‘we’re not’.” Sure enough, that seriouses them up fast. Seems even Freckles understood that much.  
  
“Oh,” Emil says. Reynir frowns and speaks, holding up two fingers on one hand, one on the other.  
  
“No, we’re not gonna take turns.” Gotta give them a shake of the head so everyone understands. Where’s the fun in that? The boys finally hit their stride working together. No more smashing foreheads when they’re both trying to suck her cock. Boy, talk about throwing the good arrangement out with the bathwater. She tries to picture their options. They could pull it off, maybe. If she sits at the edge, with one of them behind her and one on the floor— but that’s about it. Not a whole lot of options in terms of variety.  
  
Actually, come to think of it…it’s not like they _can’t_ use the floor. And she could totally pull for some spare mattresses or blankets or something. Plenty of space for them to each take a side. Or for watching. Or pushing the both of them around.  
  
Space for them to stick around a while after. The boys like that. So that’s starting to sound like their best bet: pile of padding on the floor.  
  
Yeah, okay. That could happen. 


	14. Chapter 14

Onni manhandling Reynir

 

* * *

 

 

The first time, it happened without either of their noticing. It was the heat of the moment, really, and though Reynir’s sure heard people talk about that like it was a thing, he’s always thought they had to be exaggerating. Now he knows. Now he understands how he can go from pressed flat with his back against the wall of Onni’s room in the barracks to desperate. His arms locked around his shoulders, legs around his waist as Onni grinds him through a painful orgasm. He would have done anything for the release. Maybe it was true for Onni, too, since after he finally came –lips faltering against his collarbone– he’d startled to realize the force of his hold.  
  
“Woah,” Reynir had said. It couldn’t have been more than a whisper. “That was awesome.”  
  
It had been awesome the next time, when Onni had gathered him up under his arm. He’d carried him to the bed and held him steady just like that to stroke him off. Reynir thinks he’s never felt so powerless in his life. Even counting that time with the ghosts in Denmark, but in an incredible way instead of a scary one.  
  
It’s still awesome as Onni traps him against the mattress with an arm against his back and the full weight of his body bearing down on him. His legs are spread across Reynir’s thighs and trapped like this he can feel how hard Onni is against his legs. If Onni wanted, he could just push right between them and fuck him like that – almost, and it’s the almost part that’s torture because instead he rolls his hips gentle and slow. So that Reynir can feel every last bit of his desire, the warm, solid length of his cock, the drag of his foreskin, the wiry, curling hair.   
  
Reynir wants to rock up against him. Wants him, however he can have him. Gods, if only he could move. If only it weren’t so intoxicating to know that he can’t. He closes his eyes and calls to mind the memory of Onni’s strong hands upon him, caressing his breast, cradling his cock, to carry him through. But Onni’s a good person. He’s not going to make Reynir suffer like this too long.   
  
He’s way too gentle for that.


	15. Chapter 15

Played around with the generator to help firm up the scenario using: 

Sigrun Eide/Mikkel Madsen

for a little while

coping mechanisms

home

kindness

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t have to mean anything they don’t want it to. Kind of a relief, actually, since Sigrun knows she could sure stand to blow off some steam. Wouldn’t figure doc for the kind of guy to go for it, he’s way too serious, but life’s full of all kinds of funny surprises. The Policy’s a funny surprise, too: “for the purposes of keeping things strictly business,” as he puts it. Won’t let her put her lips anywhere near his even when she’s had his cock inside her. Anything else is fair game. Just no kissing.  
  
Plenty of exceptions, though. He’ll stop as they’re undressing to bring her knuckles to his lips.  
  
“I thought you had a policy,” she reminds him. He looks up at her from where he’s sitting on the cot, and, it’s that he has this way of looking at people that feels so weird and heavy. Like he’s waiting for them to catch up and getting bored. Asshole.  
  
“Yes,” he rumbles. “And?” Sigrun gives her fingers a wiggle, because, hello? No loophole big enough to fit this. He flushes and lets his eyes fall shut. Tries to pass it off as a sigh– so it’s the old boredom trick again. “To show my esteem for you. That’s all.”  
  
“Not seeing the difference here.”  
  
“That’s quite alright.” He touches his lips to her hand again. “Think of it as a courtesy to me, then.”


	16. Chapter 16

The child does not smile. When his mother holds him close, when his father speaks to him, he does not smile like the others had. He watches them and he knows them, so Ensi knows he has been born with all his spirits as they should be. He does not feel wrong when Ensi puts him to her shoulder. His fingers clench tightly in her hair enough to hurt if he pulls and he presses his small face to her clothing like the world is too much for him all at once and he could close off enough of it if he needed until he were ready. And he is right. The world is too much. Nobody can ever really be ready for the shadows in the corner of their eye or the laments of the dead on the wind at night. They can never be ready to learn to hold a knife. Ensi’s own father used to cry from it, sometimes. He never did like to shoot a gun or clean a buck. But the child’s mother worries. Ensi stands sentry with her children until the boy at last cuts his first tooth.

 

By the time he can sit up on his own it is clear that the child belongs to the forest. One of the other grandchildren belongs to the forest, too, but he walks in the world of men like it’s a coat he can put on when he must. He moves between them with ease. Just like his name, he is fortunate. The two children named for luck, they look back at her with her own eyes and live as she never could and it is strange to see how they are her and they are her child and yet they are nothing like her at all yet still her own flesh and blood. Her spirit sings its recognition if she lays a hand to their heads.

 

But to watch Lalli is to watch her self as a child. He is quiet, when he is not colicky, and he is content to sleep a great deal. He needs little in the way of distraction that Ensi is told most children do. He spends much time in his head. Or with the spirits. He can see them, she knows. His parents fear he is not right, that when he watches for things that they cannot see, it is because his head is different. One can never be too sure. Some children whose heads are not the same are thought to be mages and some who are mages are thought to be simply the different. Some, one can never tell. Onni smiled. Onni giggled. Tuuri was always a child of men.

 

Ensi carries him on her back during her night patrols.  His mother fears his cries will give them away in the dark; he sleeps better when he is closer to the gods. She can feel his breathing, quiet and steady in his sling. She would know if something were amiss. They are two of a kind, after all.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a sentence-prompt meme, "Lalli has been half-dozing, letting the familiar, soothing sound of Tuuri’s voice wash over him, but there’s a rising inflection in it now that means she’s almost done with her rant, and is going to expect him to answer her soon, so he’d better start to pay attention to what she’s actually saying."

Lalli has been half-dozing, letting the familiar, soothing sound of Tuuri’s voice wash over him, but there’s a rising inflection in it now that means she’s almost done with her rant, and is going to expect him to answer her soon, so he’d better start to pay attention to what she’s actually saying.

 

“So basically, there’s a way that they can do it, but it’s going to take a little while. They’ve got to put all the paperwork through.” Lalli yawns even though it might make her mad. He wants to go to bed. He wants her to be done talking so he can go to bed. The shouting woman Tuuri says is their boss keeps making him get up and work even when he’s been working all night. He’s so tired, more tired than he’s ever been in his life. If he doesn’t get to go to sleep soon he’s probably going to die. Then they’ll be sorry for keeping him awake.

 

“Yes,” he hears himself say, and it sounds like it is the right answer for this conversation Tuuri is having. “And then we can go home.” She is always telling him they can go home soon, after just this one little thing, and also this other one thing. This is just another one of those things. But Tuuri frowns.

 

“…no?”

 

“After that,” Lalli tries. After whatever has to happen after the paperwork. The little thing. Lalli sneaks a look at the bunks. The heating stove isn’t on, but the good sweater has been put out, the one that isn’t itchy. If he gets cold, he can tuck his chin into it.

 

“Lalli, Norway is a completely different country.” Tuuri looks where he’s looking to the bunk room, too, but not for as long. “We wouldn’t be going back to Keuruu.”

 

“You said we were going home.” He’s too tired for this. Tuuri said they were going home. She promised. Even his feelings are too tired for this because he wants to be mad, but the anger can’t make itself stand up and yell like it should when he’s angry. Lalli bends to unfasten his boots anyway. He’s paid enough attention to this talk. Now it’s going to have to share with what he wants to do.

 

“I know! I did!” Tuuri slides off her chair and starts waving him into the bunk room. “But they just made this offer recently, it’s different now. And it’s a great offer, it’s a really big deal!” She helps him push the pad on the floor back under the bed. The big doctor keeps taking it out even though he should know Lalli doesn’t want it that way by now. “Please, pretty please. Just think about it.”

 

“I’m tired.”

 

“Lalli. Please. What we’ve done out here is huge, really huge. And if we just hang everything up and go back to Keuruu, it all stops there for us.” She lifts her head to look at him, the angle weird with her arm still halfway under the bed. “Nothing changes. More of the same thing every day. Over and over again, forever. Just think about the offer for a little while, alright? You don’t want that, do you?” The words are supposed to be a question, but the way she says them, they don’t sound like one.

 

“I’m _tired_ ,” he tells her again. And he strips off his shirt so she gets that he’s serious. “I want to go to bed.” Tuuri gets it. She stands and goes to slide the door shut on her way out.

 

“Fine. We’ll talk about it again when you’re not so tired.”

 

Lalli thinks that’s fine, too. If he doesn’t ask about it, doesn’t remind her at all, then she won’t think about it either. And if she doesn’t think about it ever, maybe she’ll forget about it. It’ll be easy. All he’ll have to do is wait.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a sentence-prompt meme, "'Are you sure this is a good idea?' Emil whispered, clutching his flamethrower in one hand."

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Emil whispers, clutching his flamethrower in one hand. The winch extension on the back of the tank really looks like it’s seen better days. As does the interspersed railing jutting out from along the side of the precipice, the one they’ll be using as a crude pulley. The rope harness is tied so it isn’t compressing his fuel tank, which is something of a relief, but it’s awfully tight.

 

“Of course I’m sure!” It’s easy to get caught up in the captain’s confidence, usually, and she does seem confident now. But this time…Emil’s just. Not so sure. Could be worth troubleshooting the plan, one last time. “It’ll be like taking candy from a baby! A big, gross pile of babies with lots of extra arms that want you dead, sure, but it’ll be so simple we should be ashamed of ourselves for doing it! Heck, I’m ashamed. Let me tell you, this is fighting _dirty_. But hey,” she punches him in the shoulder, hard. “Better dirty than dead!”

 

Beyond the ledge, there’s a loud, bloody squelch from the pit as the mass of larva oozes and sighs from its own internal heat. Mikkel gives them both a thumbs-up from his station by the winch.

 

“It’s secured,” he informs them, looking as discomfited as Emil feels. Tuuri and Reynir are peering, mesmerized, at the mass of half-formed trolls. Reynir chitters something incomprehensible to Tuuri, and cradles the kitten to his chest to avert her tiny eyes. Great, even the bumpkin who thought he’d take a cruise in monster-infested waters for fun thinks this is stupid. It sounds like Tuuri’s trying to goad him into throwing a rock in there or something.

 

“What if they wake up?” Emil takes one last desperate look at the pit. He’s really counting on Mikkel not to drop him. He doesn’t want to think about how many teeth it has in total.

 

“Burn them fast.”

 

“What if they’re mad?”

 

“Burn them faster! Or, geez, throw ‘em one of your explody things if it gets really bad, but give us a signal first or something, okay? Gotta give us a chance to beat that retreat.”

 

“But–”

 

“Less buts, more stabbing! Mikkel! Line!” Mikkel doesn’t even have a chance to wind the line. It all happens so fast. “Have at it, kiddo!” And without a breath in between, Sigrun grabs Emil by the shoulder and shoves.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the sentence prompt meme: Things probably couldn't get any worse than this, Emil thought, watching his own legs dangle helplessly in the air above him and his neck bent to an uncomfortable angle against the bottom of the trash can.

Things probably couldn’t get any worse than this, Emil thinks, watching his own legs dangle helplessly in the air above him and his neck bent to an uncomfortable angle against the bottom of the trash can. It’s muggy and wet, and it smells like a stable. And Emil _knows_ the smell of a stable.  
  
Trying to kick himself over doesn’t seem like a good way to go. The walls of the can come up too high, he’ll have no room to move or wiggle out. Then he’ll just be flat on the ground and stuck either way. Like an idiot. He could yell. Common sense says he could do it. It’d be the simplest approach. The blood is starting to rush rather painfully to his head…  
  
Of course, on the other hand, there’s still the matter of the willow troll.

 

Or the octosomething troll, that was what Tuuri called it. She said it looked like some long-dead species of fish with eight legs, which has to be the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Everyone knows fish don’t have legs. But as far as passes at worldly knowledge go, it’s not bad, for a Finn. What Emil saw, when it first slid its slimy limbs around the tank, was something more in line with the tendrils of a willow tree. A willow troll. It certainly weathered Tuuri’s evasive driving maneuvers like a solid piece of the landscape– even the crashes. Tuuri’s become quite good at weaponizing the front grill.

 

There’s a quiet shuffling somewhere beyond the lip of the can and Emil could almost cry from relief. That’s Lalli’s gait, he’s heard it so many times, he’d bet his life on it. Oh, thank goodness. He’ll be out of this thing in no time.

 

“Lalli,” he calls out, to the best of his ability. It’s a bit muffled, even to his own ears. “Mind giving a hand? I’m a bit stuck…”

 

Lalli doesn’t reply, but then again, rarely does he ever. He’s breathing quite heavily, too, which Emil supposes to mean the fight’s been trying. All the more reason to get out.

 

“If you could just tip the can and give me a pull,” Emil tries swaying one of his legs. “Some help? Lalli? Pull?” How do they say foot in Finnish, again?

 

The grip that closes around his ankle is cold. From this angle, he still can’t quite see – but it feels surprisingly muscular, too. Not quite so much like five skinny fingers, just one thick, clammy…

 

…tentacle?

 

 

It is so unfair, says some small, deranged part of him that has the energy to spare an excess thought, that even in flight, swung about in the clutches of an ancient, dead, foot-having fish monster, he still can’t be spared the indignity of remaining stuck in a trash can.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the sentence prompt meme: Reynir yawns in the bright spring air; he's gotten out of the habit of rising with the sun, but the sheep haven't, and Onni, blinking alertly next to him, doesn't seem to know the meaning of sleeping in.

Reynir yawns in the bright spring air; he’s gotten out of the habit of   rising with the sun, but the sheep haven’t, and Onni, blinking alertly   next to him, doesn’t seem to know the meaning of sleeping in. He’d been the one to let the dogs into Reynir’s room once they started barking at his door, fully-dressed and stony-faced. But the civilian clothes look good on him, Reynir thinks. Kind of takes a little of the hard edge off.

 

“Good morning,” Reynir says, belated by an hour and a bowl of porridge. And a full walk out to pasture, too. He’s gotten really bad at this. He works at the sleep still sticking to his eyes, rolling it away with the heel of his hand. It’s funny how you can wash your face and brush your teeth, but can’t really wipe the sleep off. One of the new dogs, a girl maybe two years old, keeps trying to stick her face in his pocket, and he’s too tired to bother pushing her back over and over again. It’s a bad habit, and if she doesn’t learn from watching the other dogs they’re going to have to train it out of her.

 

Onni grunts, which probably means “good morning” too. His eyes search the spread of the flock. Reynir promised him it was easy work– and it is! But he’s taking it very seriously. Maybe he doesn’t know about the dogs managing the pasture borders?

 

“It’s quiet,” Onni says, finally.

 

“…yeah. It can get kind of boring. Sorry.” He catches himself on the apology a second too late. If Onni thinks it’s annoying, he doesn’t say so.

 

“No. It’s…peaceful.”

 

“I guess.” He didn’t have a lot to compare it to before. But he guesses he can kind of see. The army base in Denmark was really noisy. Dad always said his grandpa came all the way out here to get away from that stuff. In the pastures, there’s only the sound of their feet in the grass and the hum of the crickets. One crawls over the end of Reynir’s boot; he wiggles his toes to shake it off. “So. Um.”

 

Beside him on the rock, he can see Onni’s chest swell out of the corner of his eye – like he’s bracing for something.

 

“They like you.”

 

Onni stiffens. He still hasn’t breathed out yet.

 

“–not that I said anything. They didn’t, either. I think they figured it out, though.” Probably because the others aren’t coming for another couple of days. It didn’t add up.

 

“…oh.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I didn’t think we were being so obvious,” he says, and sighs.

 

“Parents!” Reynir kind of tries to laugh a little and shrug but sounds kind of forced once it’s out and then he remembers Onni’s family and it sounds so horrible and he just feels stupid. “I mean–”

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Onni’s hand is warm on his waist, his head heavy on Reynir’s shoulder. “They’ve been kind. I’m glad.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Swap meme! For [chapter 8](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6648463/chapters/17214559):

See, with a kill like that, how can you not be proud? Squishy little desk mice can’t get too picky about how honorably they kick their ass. And that ass, honorably or not, has been so super kicked. Most of their transport back in Norway isn’t the heavy-duty kind. It’d bounce right off whatever they tried to run it into. Or, yanno, worse, depending. Mead and Valhalla parties for all. So! This is sort of a first for her, too. Man, those are _track marks_ down its back.

 

“Holy shit, Fuzzy! That’s my girl!” She gets an arm under Tuuri’s neck and sticks her knuckles good and deep into her scalp. Because what’s a little noogie to a budding baby warrior sprout?  Tuuri yelps. “Sure, it’s not a clean kill, but it’s a start! I knew you  had it in you!” She wouldn’t expect any less from her troops.

 

“I beat it,” Tuuri says. She sounds like she’s only a little bit there and she’s looking kind of spacy. Tad pale. It probably hasn’t all caught up with her. Okay, fair, that’s pretty normal. She’s forgetting to use her legs, too, and– whup, there she goes– Sigrun picks up the slack for her. They gotta work on that one next.

 

“Flattened it like a _bug_.”

 

“Wow.” Definitely only a little bit there. Somebody needs a sit-down. And a double-down on the noogies. Works like a charm back home!

 

“Yeah? Yeah?“ But not too much noogie. Baby, sorta helpless, she knows, she knows. “Maybe we oughta make you a  troll hunter, too.” Heck, if they all get their shit together out here, she might just poach the whole crew, and wouldn’t that be something?

 

“I don’t really think I,” Tuuri starts to say, but Sigrun’s pretty sure that with all the adrenaline she’s got going on, she’s not doing a whole lot of real thinking. Eh, points for trying, though. Probably the skaldy version of trying to keep stabbing after you’ve burned out. Yep. Off to bed for stubby.

 

“C’mon. I know these things,” Sigrun tells her, hauling her off towards the right set of hands for simmering things down. “Trust me.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Swap meme, for [Chapter 11](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6648463/chapters/17214640):

The trouble with Hannu is –and somehow he hasn’t figured this out yet– that the more he gnashes his teeth about stuff, the more tempting he makes it for people to mess with him. And it’s _so easy_ to mess with him.

 

He’s sensitive, for one, and he’s way too open to suggestion. Like, if Joona strokes along the nape of his neck with the back of a knuckle – bam. Right there. The flush, the gasp, the cussing-out. So little effort, Joona could almost feel bad about it.

 

But only almost. Because Hannu keeps making it difficult.

 

They’re watching a movie for the first time as them, his feet are cold and he tries to slide his feet under Hannu’s legs. The shock strikes him harder than the actual impact of the pillow. Where did anyone ever get the idea pillows are harmless? Swing them hard enough, they can seriously hurt.

 

He just doesn’t get why it can’t always be easy. It was easy when they fell off the couch, scrabbling against the floor until Ville came in, barking and howling to break up the scrap. It was easy when Hannu let him look at the rug burns on his back. Easy when Hannu let him touch his lips to those angry red burns.

 

So, yeah. He only feels a little bad that it’s so easy. Something has to be.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Swap meme: "reynir's POV in the hair combing scene in [fall2winter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6510448/chapters/14898052)"

He’s going to have a heart attack. Like. Right here and now, it’s going to explode, probably out of his chest or something and the freaky part is maybe he’d still be happy anyway? Because Onni’s hands are huge. They’re just. Steady, and so assured. He’s known it since the beginning, when Onni first hoisted him up like it was nothing. Watching Onni tease open the tip of his braid….

 

…he thinks he feels dizzy. He tries not to imagine those hands touching him. Not to picture the way his hips could fit into them, the ridge of bone to the heel of palm like earth and sky. Onni could grind his bones to dust, if he wanted. For a second there, that first time, Reynir thought he really might. Now he’s peeling dead leaves from his hair instead. Funny how life works out.

 

He’s trying hard not to look at Onni’s face. Reynir’s been able to gain all this ground, but outside of that luck hasn’t really been on his side lately. Whatever’s going on with Onni’s expression –the focus, probably, or the intensity– he’ll crack. And Onni will know.

 

He can’t scare him off like that, not when they’ve made it this far.

 

Onni’s fingers rake through his hair, spilling it over his hands, over his wrists. Reynir has to turn his back to let him keep going. But the warmth of Onni’s fingertips against his scalp more than make up for it. The touch shoots through his nerves like lightning and he wants to sigh. It feels beautiful. Reynir longs to touch him skin to skin, no barriers between them. It’s going to have to take time, though.

 

That’s okay. He’s already waited twenty years for his life to begin. He can wait for this just a little more.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV swap meme: "how about the scene where Tuuri and Lalli arrive in Dalsnes and visit Emil in the hospital in [Summer Vaction](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4872532/chapters/11170225) from Lalli's point of view?"

Tuuri said they had to take Emil to the infirmary because he got hurt while he was out hunting. He looked like he was okay. Emil was talking and smiling when he and Tuuri got there. The stuff on his back was gross, but so was all the stuff on his clothes and in his hair. Lalli thought it was all just dead troll pieces. It would be really easy to see if any of them had come from Emil. Lalli thinks he remembers throwing away a piece. 

 

…uh-oh. He hopes it wasn’t Emil’s. 

 

But Emil doesn’t look mad at him. He just looks funny. Tuuri says they’ve given him medicine for the pain that might make him silly or sleepy. Like that one time back home when he fell from a tree on his shift and didn’t get it looked at until he got back in the morning. The doctors were mad he didn’t come to them right away. Lalli’s glad he didn’t. He didn’t like how the medicine made him feel like his head was full of wool. So it’s probably okay.

 

The cat that likes to sleep on Emil’s pillow isn’t bothering him, he’s kind of nice. Tuuri is happy to do most of the talking. That’s alright, too, because she’s good at people and good at talking to them. Lalli can just go and spend time with them and eat the cookies that get put out on the tables next to the beds. They’re not as tasty as the ones the doctor makes but they’re still sweet and that makes him happy. He has all the things he likes right here in one place. Emil’s lying on his stomach and trying to listen to Tuuri talking like his brain isn’t all cloudy and smiling at him too. 

 

That also makes him happy. He thinks Emil is probably his friend. And he missed being able to see him. It hasn’t been as nice without him nearby.

 

–that’s right. 

 

Emil went away. He still _left_ him, Lalli remembers, an awful cold seed taking root in his belly. But here he is, smiling and giggling like nothing ever happened. And it’s not fair. He missed Emil. Not having him left him feeling cold, and naked. Like he’d lost his knife. It was terrible. He shouldn’t have to be the only one that hurts.

 

Before he gets to his feet, he makes sure he gets Emil’s attention so he can see how mad he is. He has to know. Then Lalli takes his food, stands, and walks away.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV Swap meme: "Reynir's thoughts at the beginning of 'Stage Directions'."

Wow. Emil’s neck must be _really_ sensitive. Reynir thought it’d be nice to kiss his neck – because everybody likes having their neck kissed, right? And it’d be something nice for Sigrun to look at. It’s almost scary how pretty Emil is, with his smooth hair and his nice skin. (Sigrun’s good-looking, too, but she’s handsome in a different kind of scary way. Scary with power, where you can’t help feeling something like awe, with her. Tuuri said she used to be important in the army back home and Reynir believes it because she wears her authority with this natural ease.) Emil, though, Emil just gives under his fingers like the foam on running water and it wouldn’t be the first time Reynir’s felt a pang of heat thinking about being held between the two of them.

 

Reynir lets himself drift, drinking in the sensation of Emil between his lips and beneath his tongue. He takes such good care of his skin – he tastes clean, a little like flesh but in a subtle way. Like he’s bathed not too long ago. Mild and soft, Reynir loves to have his mouth on him. It’s as if Reynir could bury his teeth in him and draw nectar instead of blood. (Not that he’s crazy enough to try.) Emil’s fingers keep combing through his hair and pressing against him. Trying not to pull him closer. That’s kind of silly. If he’s enjoying it, he should go ahead and say so.

 

Or, well. The next best thing. Heh. Reynir sucks at the long, thin crest of a tendon, thrilling at the way Emil shivers. Emil’s already hard, his cock is heavy against his clothes and it’s so, so tempting to roll his hips up against them. Half the fun is picking him to pieces – even if it’s kind of a double-edged tactic. He curls his tongue in the little dip in Emil’s throat. It crushes the breath from him in one quiet cry.

 

Oh.

 

Oh. Emil’s fingers in his hair have given in to the pulling. It hurts, but in a nice way, in the way that makes his head foggy sometimes.  Emil must have really liked that. Reynir sucks at it again. Just to make sure.

 

It’s really cute how he moans like that. Reynir’s trying not to giggle, because people sometimes take it the wrong way and think they’re being laughed at. It’s not supposed to be mean. It’s just sometimes it makes him so happy it all bubbles up in his chest and just has to spill out somehow. How can he help it? Emil’s gone all sweet and shaking, his soft, pretty face is probably all flushed. Sigrun is watching them with a slow burning want that simmers in her eyes. It’s all the most wonderful thing.

 

“Okay,” Reynir tells him. “Another time. I’ll do that for you again, I promise.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV swap meme! For Chapter 1 of this very work. Be warned in advance of slight sacrilege.

The thing is, he really wants to cry. He can’t understand her, but he’s not totally stupid. He knows there’s only so much time left before the air they’ve got runs out.

 

Reynir wonders if that’s the reason he’s feeling lightheaded.

 

Or maybe it’s the way Sigrun’s stroking his tongue, the gentle pressure of her fingertips searing into his nerves. She’s just, it’s– kind of gross, actually, his lips are slick and a little of it feels like it’s cooling in the air on its way down his jaw– but she’s so solid and skinbitter against his palate and under his tongue. She feels him out, like there’s nothing she won’t know inside of him, and she’s promising him everything. Yes, he wants to say. Anything you want.

 

Ah, her fingers are nice and warm. Warmer even than her words and he doesn’t have to know what she’s saying to understand her. It’s going to be okay. He’s safe with her. The crook of her fingers up against the roof of his mouth twists him deep in his gut. Reynir doesn’t pray a lot but he thinks this is probably what it feels like when you mean it.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From some Valentine's/Friendship Day/etc requests on tumblr: 'lingonberry pregnancy fic in either SSSS or ARTD'
> 
> (I played fast and loose with this bit of mythology, thanks to Minutia for being so understanding!)

Ooh, it’s too good! It’s just too good! The human’s face looks so stupid when it starts to sink in – his hands freeze in place and his mouth goes slack with a paste of crushed berries still sitting on his tongue. His little dog friend in his new man’s body looks even dumber than usual, too!

 

“That’s right!” And if Puppy-Fox gloats a bit in the process, who could blame him? There’s nothing in the _world_ as funny as watching a mortal realize how tiny and frail and powerless they really are!

 

“I….” The human gums numbly on his mouthful for a second, then spits it into the bushes. Giving his lapdog just enough time to drop his own bucket and grab him around the chest.

 

“Hannu, no!”

 

“I’ll kill him! I’ll snap his neck, I’ll do it this time–” Wow! The flecks of red juice at his stupid maw almost even look like spots of blood! Between that and the rage, it’d be pretty scary…if he weren’t totally helpless. Puppy-Fox stretches nice and slow, flexing his paws. Having a body after so long without feels so strange. It’s so heavy. Kind of gross.

 

“I’d hold onto it myself if I could, but right now nobody’s supposed to know I have it. So take good care of it for me, okay?” He crouches on his rock. About time to wrap this errand up. But since he’s such a nice guy, he’ll save the human some trouble and lay out the rules: “You won’t be able to go run and hide under Kokko’s apron this time, so I wouldn’t try if I were you. This will be our little secret!”


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From some Valentine's/Friendship Day/etc requests on tumblr: 'JoonaHannu + the ides of shitwinter'

Okay, fine. The hot chocolate isn’t so bad. It’s Mrs. Kuikka’s famous recipe, the one she saves up for holidays and special occasions only: it’s got real chocolate and milk and some mystery magic blend and a nice rum ratio. And the quiet’s pretty alright. Amazing what just shutting the curtains can do for the place. Close out the world, turn on a few lamps. Forget everything about being stuck in a frozen hellhole for the forseeable future.

 

He can even tolerate the movie, mind-numbing as it is. Musical numbers are for kids and idiots, but Joona seems content to shut up for a bit to watch the spit-shined dancers flap their arms around in their hunky-dory little technicolor world. Ville’s playing favorites today, the traitor. He’s got his head perched on Joona’s thigh and is snoring up a hairy little storm. It’s disgustingly domestic.

 

But, no, what he doesn’t get is….why the blankets?

 

“Hey,” he says, and tries to wriggle an arm free. But they’re both pinned securely to his sides in his blanket cocoon. “I appreciate the special treatment and all, but is this much wrapping _seriously_ necessary?”

 

Joona doesn’t even bother looking away from the screen.

 

“Of course,” he replies. “Burritos are the official holiday food of the Ides of Shitwinter.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From some Valentine's/Friendship Day/etc requests on tumblr: joona/hannu smut, knee high kink

Joona’s skin is covered in goosebumps. Weird. Hannu slides a finger up the back of his ankle. Then down under the arch of his foot. Joona shivers.

 

“Really?” Unbelievable. Hannu looks up at him on the foot of the bed. “They’re just socks.” Sheer back fancy socks. What are these, silk? He pushes his thumb against the nearly invisible knit. The fabric is sleek under his palm, but textured under pressure. When Joona exhales, it comes out kind of stilted.

 

“Humor me,” he says. 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Hannu knows. He knows. He cradles Joona’s heel in his hand and touches his lips to his knee. Right there: he zeroes in on the spot where the joint sticks out like a knot in the body of a tree. Joona’s all wrong for smooth and soft, there’s nothing about him that isn’t rough. Still, Joona swears. There’s a little wet spot growing on the front of his underwear.

 

“Just watch your nails,” Joona warns him. “They’ll run.”


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From some Valentine's/Friendship Day/etc requests on tumblr: 'Sigrun, Mikkel, and a metaphorical pissing contest about who has lived through the worst winter'

They take the contest and their drinks to one of the scattered fire pits outside the mead hall once the party starts to die down for the night. It’s still early in the season, so it’s kind of cool once the sun goes down.

 

“Sure, the book project was a bummer, but that was nothing,” Sigrun announces as her lead-in. “Did I ever tell you about the time we got snowed in up in the mountains.” Mikkel snorts. Oh he of little faith.

 

“No, I don’t believe so. Do regale me.”

 

“Alright, well. It was the dead of winter and a freak snowstorm hit while we were up rooting out a nasty that’d been trashing all our game traps. Hail, rockslides, black ice – you name it. No communication, no supplies, no nothing.” She takes a sip of her drink to break the story up. Gotta have a dramatic pause to let that all sink in. And it’s a good thing Dagny’s squad’s out on patrol tonight because she’d hate to spoil her clincher: “Hey, have I ever told you about Captain Dagny No-Arms?”


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Folie Folio One Year Annerdversary](http://foliefolio.tumblr.com/tagged/folio-annerdversary-2k17) blowout. The request was: "Emil/Lalli, make-up sex".

It’s not until Lalli has him bent over and grasping at the trunk of an oak, long fingers seated deep inside him that he remembers the word he is looking for. Emil jolts– though he supposes it could just as well be the shift in Lalli’s wrist, the way he angles himself to press against– ah– something rather–  
  
“S-sssorry…” he is able to gasp out before Lalli slips his fingers out to the knuckle (good grief, those wide, bony knuckles)…only to drive them in again, merciless. Emil shudders, laying his head against the bark. Had he not been loud enough? Clear enough? “I’m sorry! Lalli!”  
  
Over his shoulder, he can see Lalli’s intent focus. His eyes are trained, rifle-scope precise, on where they’re joined. Until he looks up.  
  
“Yes,” he says, simply. And thrusts his fingers in. He twists them and curls them into a vicious hook. It’s cruel. Emil keens against the tree. Lalli mutters something to himself, splaying his clean hand across the small of Emil’s back. He certainly doesn’t seem angry anymore. Emil’s not even sure why either of them were.  
  
“Lalli…”  
  
“Sorry. Say.”  
  
….what? Emil blinks through the fog of arousal and discomfort– he could have sworn he’d already said– but.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, though his voice is shaking. He can’t read the expression on Lalli’s face, unknowable as the surface of the moon, as he watches Emil tremble on his fingers. Carefully, experimentally, Lalli repositions them once more and pushes. The way Lalli falls inside him is beautiful, Emil thinks. Boiling and wonderful at the same time. Lalli returns to his focus and says:  
  
“Yes.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Folie Folio One Year Annerdversary](http://foliefolio.tumblr.com/tagged/folio-annerdversary-2k17) blowout. The prompt was: "Joona/Hannu + any of the following: snow, breath, waiting, don't you dare, night, trees, do what you like".

There’s a light on in his kitchen. Oh, Hannu thinks. That’s right. He’s got the spare key. It’s been a long, quiet walk and he’s had a good chance to get back into his own head. Blissfully so, after a long, crappy day. And he’d been looking forward to enjoying the rest of his evening there. But looks like that’s off the agenda. Ville sniffs at the door, turning now and then to whine at him. Hannu sighs and gets to banging off his boots.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” he says, as Ville licks balefully at his hands. Which kinda makes it hard to edge his boots off. “I know. Now shut up, it’s fine.”  
  
Or fine enough, he guesses. Joona doesn’t say anything as he trails Ville in; Ville’s appointed himself to welcome committee duty. Not that he needs to– Joona’s already made himself at home and helped himself to Hannu’s stash of good coffee. Ville, the little traitor, buries his face in Joona’s knee.  
  
“I’m tired,” Hannu tells him. Joona strokes Ville’s shoulders.  
  
“I brought some leftover buns,” he says. There’s another mug waiting beside the coffee pot. Unbelievable. His head’s beginning to hurt again. Hannu scrubs at his temple with his wrist and heads over to pour himself some. He stands there a moment to breathe in the scent. As long as Joona keeps his mouth shut, he can manage, for a little bit. Grab some ibuprofen, sit down for a goddamn second today and catch his breath and maybe deal with this.  
  
A pair of arms wrap around his waist. Hannu stills. Fuck, he’s too tired for this. Too tired to argue when he feels Joona’s forehead against the back of his skull. Too tired to protest the way Joona stands there, curled warm around him.  
  
Weird, Hannu thinks. He didn’t realize his fingers were still so cold.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the [Folie Folio One Year Annerdversary](http://foliefolio.tumblr.com/tagged/folio-annerdversary-2k17) blowout. The prompt was: "Ville and a hot dog eating contest"

Wow! It’s like the whole town came out to see! There’s photographers from the local paper and a lady who Hannu says runs a sort-of famous blog and even the town elders who don’t have too much to say but smell a lot like authority and it’s going to be so much fun! He’s going to get to make Hannu so proud!   
  
Ville waves at him where he’s standing over in the audience area with his camera. Hannu frowns, but he waves back. Yay! And to think, Hannu wanted him to cut down on the hot dogs. All that, it was just leading up to this– it was fate! It was practice– no, it was _training!_  
  
Next to him, Anssi is sitting very still and looking serious. Riikka said that’s because he gets nervous before competitions. Riikka, though, she’s cheerful and excited in her seat next to Ville, tapping her sneakers against the dirt and humming.   
  
“I heard there’s going to be a prize,” she tells him. “You get a ribbon and a month’s worth of free brining spices!”   
  
“Oh. That’s…nice?” Ville’s not sure what brining spices are, but Riikka’s happy about it, and people came out here today, so it must be a really good thing. Paju’s at the table too, and also looking focused. Though her little brother doesn’t seem like he wants to be here. He just seems kind of….bored, honestly.  
  
Which is silly, because when there’s all-you-can-eat hot dogs to be had, what’s not to love?


End file.
